Dust Integrity Failing
by Astrapi Gnosis
Summary: When the integrity of the very multi-verse, the worlds as we know it, collapses... Features Minecraft war strategies and politics. Features good spelling, grammar, a lot of common sense, and more. Anything you recognize is owned my someone other than me. Please enjoy and review!
1. Prologue

Author's Note: For those who are here from Hostility Awaits, welcome, and please enjoy your stay. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, let me fill you in.

This fic will include a lot of battle strategies, politics, betrayals, and common sense. Oh, did I mention hacking? Yep. If you have no idea what His Dark Materials is, don't worry. I'm not using much of the plot, just Lyra. You'll read more on her later. To ease your brains, I started off with the good old familiar Minecraft. This fic features good spelling and good grammar. Good diction too, I hope.

If you're new, definitely check out my other fic, Hostility Awaits. Dust Chronicles has been halted for the two Minecraft stories. This fic takes place within the same world as Hostility Awaits, and the two storylines will eventually merge together. Cool, eh? Eh?

Well... *cough*

Anyway, enjoy yourselves, and please review! They make my day! Enjoy!

* * *

The wither skeleton jumped from tree to tree, taking care to stay out of sight of the guards. Night had fallen already, and a full moon overlooked the scene, throwing the wither skeleton's shadow into that of the leaves. Numerous square stars peppered the night sky, moving mesmerizingly slowly with the moon.

The forest surrounded a small village, fenced off with cobblestone fencing. A couple of guards clad in iron armor and armed with iron swords patrolled the perimeter, giving away the importance of this small village bathed in moonlight.

The wither skeleton finally jumped down from the trees, after staying in them for so long. This wither skeleton, however, was different from your average wither skeleton. Firstly, and most obviously, it was in the Overworld. Secondly, instead of being armed with a stone sword, this one was armed with a glowing diamond sword, shimmering with a purple aura.

The wither skeleton hid behind the tree trunk, avoiding attention with utmost skill. It sneaked a peek at the guards and, seeing them patrolling somewhere else for the time being, snuck towards the fences and jumped over them.

Now, jumping over fences, no matter wooden, cobble, or mossy cobble, should be impossible without special effects.

Well, that wasn't the first impossible feat the wither skeleton pulled off.

The wither skeleton moved stealthily along the village paths, pausing to examine nothing, intent upon its prey. It held its diamond sword in its right hand, glowing and shimmering eerily, and a dark reddish-brown splash potion in its left.

Any skilled swordsman will comment on how professionally the wither skeleton held its sword. The positioning would be perfect for stabbing and blocking, the only two things necessary on short notice. Slicing would take too long, and thus was not important. If the wither skeleton had the element of surprise, a quick stab would finish everything. If not, a good block would parry just about everything as well, even a shot from the back.

Again, ordinary wither skeletons shouldn't be able to achieve this level of professionalism.

But this wasn't your ordinary wither skeleton.

It crept along the shadow of the village walls, pausing and pressing itself against the wood as a guard with torch in hand walked by. The guard stopped dead in his tracks, in the middle of the streets, and took out a piece of steak to eat. He placed a hand on his hips, using the other one to eat, and stared into the night sky. He gave a sigh of marvel.

The wither skeleton, now thoroughly annoyed, pondered whether or not to temporarily dispose of the man. As if he weren't inconvenient enough as a guard, he had the nerve to stop in the middle of the street! To have a midnight snack and gaze at the stars!

The wither skeleton put away its splash potion, taking out a shimmering arrow surrounded with violet light. Shooting an arrow would make too much sound, as would using a splash potion. The only way to dispose of this problem was to get up close and personal. The wither skeleton prepared the arrow, held it like an assassin's knife, and prepared to dash and strike –

And the guard packed up and resumed patrolling. After a short moment, he went out of sight.

The wither skeleton relaxed its tense figure, and replaced its arrow with the old potion.

It darted across the wide street, taking care to stay out of sight, seemingly making for the town center.

But it suddenly veered right, making for a random tree next to a small house. It paused at the trunk, peered around and, after seeing no one, pressed an obscure button at the bottom of the trunk. The button was well placed and blended in well with the tree; and yet somehow the wither skeleton knew to look there.

Pistons retracted loudly. The wither skeleton mentally winced at the loud noise and, after making sure yet again no guards were alarmed, jumped down the newly exposed hole and landed on a ladder, absorbing fall damage.

The secret entrance led to a very narrow stone hallway, only one block wide, preventing any type of bypass as long as there was a guard.

Which there was.

The guard, at the end of the hallway, seeing the wither skeleton, gripped his sword tightly and pressed a button next to him, no doubt the alarm, his expression full of panic and shock. The guard was positively sweating.

The wither skeleton inwardly cursed. It never liked killing sentient beings, but the guard had seen its identity. _That _information mustn't leak. The guard had to die.

Swiftly, the wither skeleton stabbed the guard in his chest. The guard was obviously inexperienced, for he did not even try to parry the blow. Instead, he dropped his sword as his eyes bulged in pain, his face twisted with shock and fear, and dropped to the ground, his knees melting, his hands gripping the wither skeleton's sword, vainly trying to pull it out. The wither skeleton, in response, thrust its sword even deeper in and twisted it, killing the guard instantly. His face was paralyzed with pain as he fell to the ground face-down, dead, and disappeared into a puff of smoke, leaving his inventory behind.

But the alarm had already been sounded. The wither skeleton knew it had perhaps only seconds to act, and, without hesitance, pulled a fire charge out from nowhere and threw it forcibly into the ground at the end of the hallway.

The hallway erupted, exploding into fire and smoke, leaving only a crater where an iron door had once been.

The wither skeleton quickly threw a splash potion of invisibility on the floor, cloaking itself for eight full minutes. Granted, there were still small particles from the potion, but they would be hidden in the smoke and debris from the explosion.

Guards flooded the narrow hallway, alarmed as to what was happening. They would most likely think that a creeper exploded, which was fine with the wither skeleton. In the confusion of the scene, it squeezed past the guards and out of the hallway, into a much wider and much more spacious lobby.

Granted, the lobby was only three blocks high, but that was better than the hallway back. The lobby was decorated richly with stone bricks and cobble seats. Potted trees filled the corner, painting the room with greenery. A deep purple carpet rolled down the center, complimenting the room even further. Lastly, glowstone were hidden behind glass, bathing the room in a romantic lighting. To any outside observer, the lobby was inconspicuous and innocent. It was very beautiful, though.

But the wither skeleton knew otherwise.

It quickly broke a piece of glass, and destroyed the glowstone behind it. A redstone torch dropped, breaking the circuit. The wither skeleton then darted out of the lobby and into yet another hallway.

This hallway was a bit wider and taller than the first, decorated with cobble. It lead to several wooden doors, behind each were small offices. The wither skeleton quickly made it into an office on the right and shut the door behind it.

There wasn't much in the office except for a large chest, a crafting table, a furnace, some bookshelves, and a writing table, complete with a chair. It would've been quite difficult to hide something in this room.

Without redstone, that is.

The broken circuit earlier had resulted in yet another retracted piston, revealing a chest underneath the writing table. The wither skeleton put its sword up and rummaged through the chest, and, after half a second, emerged victorious with its prey.

A book.

The wither skeleton put the book in its inventory and took out a fake, placing it back where the original book used to be. It then left the room, making for the lobby from whence it came.

The swarm of guards were still there, investigating the scene. Taking advantage of the confusion, the wither skeleton took out a redstone torch, a piece of glowstone, and a piece of glass, putting them back where they were. Hopefully, this would conceal the chest and hide any trace that the chest had been broken into.

The wither skeleton knew that the only way out of the complex was the way it came in. Obviously, that route was out of the question.

It went back to the cobble hallway that led to the wooden doors. It took out a diamond pickaxe and began digging its way upwards. After two swings of cobble, it reached dirt. The wither skeleton destroyed the three pieces of dirt and threw yet another splash potion at itself. It crouched, poising for a jump, and leaped out of the hole.


	2. Chapter 1 - Waking Up At Four AM

Author's Note: Alrighty! This is the first chapter regarding Lyra and her world. For those of you who don't know, an alethiometer is a device capable of telling the truth through symbols. The meanings of the symbols are Bible-related, and often have many levels of meanings. Reading one is bad for your mental health unless you're a professional alethiometrist (just kidding about that). Anyway, sorry this chapter's a bit short, I'll really try and make them longer in the future.

For now though...

Enjoy! BTW, please review! If you figure out what the alethiometer's saying at the end of the chapter, write it down in a review! It's a MAJOR giveaway to the plot if you can get it right!

* * *

Lyra Belacqua jolted awake, throwing her head about madly, blinking rapidly for the sleep to get out of her eyes. Her daemon, suddenly awake as well, thrashed about the pillows. Her sheets lie on the floor in a heap of mess, forgotten.

"Wha - "

"Hush, Lyra!" her Headmistress scolded, whispering urgently so as to not awaken Lyra's roommates around her, all still asleep. "Don't make too much fuss, child. It's still four in the morning. Dress, and come, quickly. The accelerator is just warming up. You don't want to miss this!"

Lyra stretched her arms, yawning quite overtly, earning a stern look from her Headmistress.

"Right," she mumbled sleepily, earning yet another sharp look from her mentor. "I'll be down in a mo'. Just give me and Pan here some time to dress." She yawned again.

"Well," Dame Hannah said after throwing Lyra one final nasty look, "you better get up there quickly, or we'll start without you!"

She then stormed out of the dormitory quietly, which was not something anyone could've done, and slammed the door shut, also quietly, which was also not something anyone could've done. But again, this was Dame Hannah.

The dormitory was normal in every way you'd expect it to be. It was a small, cramped room, with four small beds in four corners, in three of which lied asleep, peaceful young ladies, and in the other one sat a very disgruntled and sleepy Lyra Belacqua. The room was rather organized, save for Lyra's small corner, which comprised of a small writing desk overflowing with papers and scraps. The moderately-high ceiling was elaborately decorated with painted green vines, which crept down the sides of the four walls.

Lyra yawned again, attempting to stifle it with her hands. Even her sleeping gown was messy.

"Reckon we should get going," Pantalaimon, Lyra's daemon, her soul's embodiment, mumbled sleepily.

"Right you are," Lyra yawned again.

She slowly pushed herself off the bed, and began rummaging through her small drawer for something clean and presentable to wear. It would cause her no end of trouble if she showed up at the accelerator wearing something nasty in front of the Headmistress.

She dressed slowly, picking out the one with light blue laces at the end of everything. Putting on her skirt, she suddenly sneezed loudly. She looked around and, after making sure everyone was still sound asleep, put on a warm, thick white coat for good measure. She walked into the restroom and stared at the mirror a tad after brushing her teeth.

Her pale blue eyes stared back at her. It had been at least three years since she and Will had parted ways. After returning, she enrolled in St. Sophia's College to relearn the ways of the alethiometer. Her research had quickly evolved into advanced experimental theology, and had carried her far. Recently, her college had received a generous donation to fund the creation of a new particle accelerator, which was cutting-edge technology, and they were hoping to produce first-hand results regarding Dust break-down with it.

She pulled her dirty blond hair back into a ponytail and walked out the dormitory, pausing only to pick up her satchel with the alethiometer inside. She closed the door behind her with a silent finality, and walked quickly down the carpeted hallway, Pantalaimon jogging by her, hoping not to break into a fresh sprint. Maybe she wouldn't be too late, and Dame Hannah would not be too cross. Hopefully.

She had no idea that while she walked briskly, her alethiometer was repeatedly pointing to symbols wildly inside her satchel:

Apple, Hourglass, Thunderbolt, Tree…

Apple, Hourglass, Thunderbolt, Tree…

Apple, Hourglass, Thunderbolt, Tree…


	3. Chapter 2 - Runes

Author's Note: There. The promised long update. This sits at 2000 words!

Enjoy. I can't think of anything else to say.

Oh, right! IN case you were wondering, experimental theology is the equivalent of physics. Just a different name.

Enjoy, and please review! If you like the story, suggest it to your friends! Have fun! Next update should be up soon!

* * *

Lyra quietly shut the heavy wooden door behind her, her eyes intent upon the large accelerator, a pine marten that was Pantalaimon on her shoulder.

Several scholars surrounded the accelerator, among which was Dame Hannah. She waved at Lyra covertly and motioned for her to come over, all the while mouthing "_Where were you?_"

Lyra quickly arrived at her mentor's side.

"I was sleepy, right?" she whispered to her Headmistress. "Took me a while to get situated."

"Well, get situated faster," Dame Hannah scolded under her breath. "If you miss this, you'll be cursing your soul for the rest of your life. Now hush and watch.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Dame Hannah's voice rang clearly through the large, carpeted room lit by naphtha lamps. All conversations ceased as heads turned to look at her. "The accelerator will be powered up shortly. Chaplain, if you will start the Van de Graaff generator?"

A deep hum resonated around the room as the generator started. There was a tense silence as charges accumulated on the colossal metal sphere, generating hundreds of thousands of volts to power the accelerator. Lyra held her breath as she saw count-down timer on the far wall tick down, down, down, down, to the last ten seconds before the accelerator was turned on…

With a loud blast, the room shook as the accelerator jumped to life. Lyra could not see anything for the thick, metal plating that covered the accelerator, but she knew that a Dust collector was already attracting Dust, and an alpha particle was already being accelerated around the machine…

Then everything went wrong.

Everything turned a sudden shade of blue, then violet, then a deep, angry purple.

And Lyra knew no more.

* * *

Lyra slowly opened her eyes. Or, rather, she began to, but she found the full intensity of a blazing sun staring back at her. She raised her hand to shade her eyes out of reflex, and sat up from her sleeping position to look around.

But where was she? The last thing she remembered, she was in the accelerator room! What had happened since then? What happened to her?

Then something else hit her with the force of a hammer.

Everything was made out of cubes.

A desolate landscape stretched out before her. All she could conceive was an endless sea of sand, all grotesquely made of cubes. What she thought were cacti rose out of this lifeless sea, decorating sparsely with green. Other than that, there was not a thing in sight. A sharp outline surrounded everything. It was unreal.

Her breath began to quicken. She stood up, looking around desperately, not even noticing that she was sweating from wearing a coat in the hot desert sun –

There was nothing. Nothingness stretched out before, under, above, and behind her. A lone, square sun hung in noon position high above.

"What the bloody hell is going on!" she screamed to the sky.

"Hush, Lyra," Pantalaimon said in his little voice, his head whipping around to examine the landscape, though there really was nothing to examine. "If there's anything hostile here, you really don't want them to see you."

"Don't be silly," Lyra said, her voice filled with concern and panic. "If there's bloody anything out here at all, I _want_ them to see me. Maybe we can actually find out _where the hell we are_."

"Fat chance," Pantalaimon said flatly, standing up on his hind legs and crossing his tiny pine marten arms.

"Well, no use in standing here, is there? Let's start moving."

"Like I could stay here without you."

And the two began moving across the endless desert.

* * *

Lyra eventually took off her coat and stowed it under her armpit to prevent herself from becoming too hot. They had traveled for nearly half a day, since it was noon when she arrived and it was nearly dusk already. Funnily enough, there seemed to be several ponds of water in this desert. She had been very thirsty when she saw the first. At first, she had thought it to be an illusion and had simply kept trekking. It was only at Pantalaimon's warning did she realize that the water pond was real, and she then proceeded to drink greedily and heartily from it. As such, water was not an issue.

But the time worried her. If night was falling, where would she sleep? She suspected that sleeping in an open desert was not such a good idea, but where else would she sleep?

She was silently pondering this question, Pantalaimon by her side, when she climbed over a sand dune and saw on the other side –

A village.

It was a small village, to be sure, and it was literally in the middle of nowhere. Sand stretched out endlessly on all four sides of it, but the buzz of life went on inside it. Lyra could see many people, thankfully not made of cubes, milling around, trading, arguing, doing everything else normal people did.

Thinking perhaps that she had finally found civilization, she jogged down the hill and headed for the nearest crowd, hoping that they would be able to answer some of her questions. Perhaps they would have some spare food as well, for she was rather famished from her long walk.

Thus she made her biggest mistake of the day.

Lyra approached a gruff-looking man that was arguing with a bearded man in a white apron. When it became apparent that the man was too absorbed in his conversation to notice Lyra, Lyra tapped the man on the shoulders and asked (with no hint of meekness, too):

"Excuse me, sir? But where is this?"

The man suddenly turned to squint at her, his lopsided green eyes staring at her, sizing her up.

"Wha da ya want?" he huffed after a while.

"I was just wondering where this is," Lyra said, rather taken aback.

"Well, hear, hear!" the man motioned with his arms to gather everyone's attention. All conversations ceased as heads turned to glare at the man, each one of them gruff and rough. "This doll here ain't got no idear where she is! A _noob_!"

As he said this, the eyes that were gathered on him began to shift to Lyra, glaring her down, taunting her silently. In spite of this uncomfortable attention, she stood a bit taller and glared at the man defiantly, with contempt, refusing to feel afraid. After all, she _was _Lyra Belacqua.

"I don't know what I've done to earn your enmity, but I was merely asking where this is," she said, her voice cold and unforgiving as steel. "You needn't make such a big fuss about it."

The man threw his bald head backwards and gave a harsh, short laugh, his forked mustache twitching as a result.

"'_Enmity_'? '_Needn't_'? Well, boys and girls, looks like we've got ourselves a little _aristocrat_ here!"

The man walked forward, throwing forth his powerful shoulders, bearing down over Lyra. Instead of shrinking, Lyra stood taller and threw the man a nasty look. The man, in response, shoved Lyra hard against the wooden wall behind her. She felt her feet leave the gravel ground as the man held her up against the wall with one hand, his other hand pulled back in a fist a poised to strike.

"Well, ya'll find out, we here don't no get _pushed around_ by stupi' _aristocrats_. Ya'll find out _real_ goo'."

Then he thrust his fist forward and buried it Lyra's stomach. Lyra expected to feel her gut dissolve in pain, and braced herself, closed her eyes, screwing her face up in pain –

But it never came. She opened her eyes and saw the man before her equally confused as her. She caught the faint blaze of – the only word to describe it would be _runes_ – burning in the air, floating, glowing an eerie blue, before it faded away into oblivion.

The man turned his head, a scowl on his face that was screwed up with hatred.

"You," he gritted through his teeth, and dropped Lyra to the ground.

Lyra rubbed her sore shoulder where the man had held her in his vice grip, trying to free it of its pain. It was enough to make any girl cry. That is, if Lyra Belacqua had been the type of girl that cried.

She turned her head to look at who the man was addressing. It was a tall, sleek, skinny black creature, with a small body but slender, long limbs. A deep, furious purple pair of eyes blazed from the cube, black head. Lyra noted that this creature, too, was made of cubes.

"Leave her alone," the creature intoned. Its voice was curious – it was as if it didn't talk at all, but its voice resonated within Lyra's mind, echoed within the confines of her mind.

"I ain't gonna take no _orders_ from a damn _mob_. I don' care if ya've earned some '_spontaneous sentience_', to me, ya're still just a _mob_." With that, the man spat at the creature's feet. The creature, however, paid it no attention.

"_Leave her alone_."

The man charged at the creature, pulling a shiny, silver sword out from nowhere. He raised his sword arm and brought it down hard on the black creature –

But it was gone. All that remained in its place was a cloud of purple particles. Lyra noted that those, too, were made of cubes.

The man scowled. He straightened himself, readied his sword, and turned to face the creature, who was then behind him.

"You do realize you can't land a hit on me with that sword," the creature mused, its voice echoing eerily in her mind.

"Stupi' thing! If ya got the guts, stay still an' let me run ya through! See how tough ya are _then_!"

Jeering went up through the crowd, taunting the creature, booing it. The man stood in the midst of it all, a maniacal grin on his face, his sword in both hands before him, ready to strike…

The creature lashed out with one long arm. Yet another set of runes blazed to life, floating in mid-air right in front of the man's sword.

The man's sword was blasted out of his hand in a flash of blue light, flying behind and over him in a long, graceful arc, before finally hitting the earth with a dull thud. There was only the brief look of shock on the man's face before he was launched into the air by yet another set of shimmering blue runes accompanied by purple particles. There was an almost comical look of terror on the man's face as he hung in the air for that split second when he reached the maximum height of his flight; he then unceremoniously came crashing down.

He landed with a soft "oof". The crowd visibly winced as the man struggled to get back up. He succeeded in getting into a push-up position, but then his arms gave away and he collapsed to the ground. He did not rise again.

"Someone carry him away," the creature said in a monotone, its voice almost bored. "And leave the girl alone."

Lyra slowly stood up, shaking as the crowd parted around her, losing interest rapidly. She gave a silent look to the creature, conveying one meaning with it:

_My thanks_.

The creature's unfathomably deep purple eyes locked in with Lyra's pale blue ones. Something exchanged between them as the creature gave a minute, barely noticeable nod to Lyra. Lyra nodded back courteously. It was only then did Lyra notice with a chill down her spine that the creature did not have a mouth.

But too late.

The creature disappeared with a curious sucking sound, as if someone rapidly let loose a drain, and exploded into a shower of purple sparks, leaving Lyra alone in this crowded village.


	4. Chapter 3 - Death

Author's Note: Welcome back! Have fun! Review! Enjoy! Tweets! Candy! Buffalo!

Those are the wisdom words for the day.

Hope you guys enjoy, and I'll see you guuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuys next time! :D

* * *

It had been quite some time since she had picked up her dropped coat and walked away from the scene of the conflict. A bit of asking around and pretending to be tough (_not_ that she needed to pretend) told her the location of the nearest inn.

Lyra pushed open the twin wooden doors and walked into the medieval-looking inn. She peered about, taking in the rather odd surrounding. Small groups of grown men sat on high stalls (which were made of cubes), conversing over small glass bottles of what she presumed to be liquor. She slowly approached what appeared to be the main counter and asked the red-bearded man behind:

"Excuse me? I want a room."

"Four nugs a night," the man said without even looking up.

Lyra had gathered from eavesdropping on conversations that the local currency was something called a "nug". She even caught a glimpse of them once or twice. They were small, golden nuggets that would've been smaller than her palm. A curious thing, though: they, too, were made of cubes.

The only problem was that she didn't have this currency or anything that looked quite like it.

"I got no nugs," Lyra said, showing no sign of weakness in her voice, "but I'm willing to pawn something in. Would you be willing to take this silver coin?" She flipped a small, silver coin onto the table.

She had found it when she picked up her coat after the incident with the black creature. Evidently, it had fallen out of one of her coat pockets. With any luck, this little thing would suffice.

The man finally looked up. His eyes turned a comedic size of dinner plates when he laid them on the coin.

"Good gracious…" he muttered, slowly and gently picking up the coin. "It's… It's… _Real_…" He caressed it with his fingers, marveling at the smooth edges, feeling the outline of the bump on the heads side.

"Um… So this will do?" Lyra asked unsurely, rather taken aback by the man's odd behavior.

"Yes," he breathed, not taking his eyes off the coin. "Yes, ma'am." He suddenly ripped his eyes from the coin and barked at someone in a cube-made brown tunic: "Eric! Show this lady to her room, will ya?"

Eric gave a small grunt in response and walked up the stairs on the far right, motioning for Lyra to follow him.

Lyra followed.

Her room was made of dark wooden planks, complemented by cobble on the edges. To be sure, it was small. A miniscule red bed lay in the corner of the room, while a chest and a curious working table was on the other side. All were made of cubes, even the lone torch that shone above the workbench and the small piece of glass that was her window.

Eric gave Lyra a gruff nod, stared at Pantalaimon a bit, and left, shutting the wooden door behind him.

Lyra threw her jacket on the floor next to her bed. She then sat down on the bed, finally allowing the fatigue of the day to wash over her. After lying on the bed for a bit, staring up at the low ceiling, she took her alethiometer out of her satchel and prepared herself for reading.

_Where is this?_ she asked the alethiometer.

She watched as the needle swirled about, rapidly pointing to different symbols, and read:

_A land of cubes._

Then an idea came to her.

_What alternate world is this?_

The answer came: _A land of cubes._

Which confirmed her suspicions.

_How do I return to my home?_

After a while:

_A man with blank eyes. _Then something curious: _Sword._

Lyra blinked. This answer was most peculiar. But the alethiometer wasn't finished:

Apple, Hourglass, Thunderbolt, Tree.

Lyra had _no_ idea what _that_ meant.

Then something else hit her like a hammer. Shaking, she twisted the dials of her alethiometer to mirror her question:

_How can I meet my love again?_

After a while:

Apple, Hourglass, Alpha/Omega, Bread, Anchor, Apple.

Again, Lyra had no idea what that meant.

"Bloody muse, eh?" Pantalaimon commented from Lyra's shoulders.

"D'you know what time it is?"

"Not an idea," came Pantalaimon's small voice.

"Let's sleep, then."

With that, Lyra put up her alethiometer, undid her ponytail, and collapsed onto the bed.

* * *

Lyra jolted awake.

She sat up in her bed, her hair stuck to her face with sweat, her breath shallow, her body shaking. She had a horrible nightmare, but could not remember what it was. She looked out the window and saw the moonlight streaming in from the window, indicating that it was still rather late. Lyra rubbed her eyes and pressed her temples, hoping to relax herself.

"Nightmare?" Pantalaimon mumbled sleepily from the pillow.

"Bloody right," Lyra replied in a whisper, her eyes closed.

_Thump_.

Lyra heard a distinct thumping noise from outside the door.

"Did you hear that?" she asked Pantalaimon in a voice barely recognizable, suddenly tense.

"Right," Pantalaimon replied.

The thumping did not resume. Lyra thought it might have been the bad dream, but something told her that this was real.

She slowly climbed out of her bed, approaching the wooden door cautiously, taking care not to let the floor creak…

The wooden door slammed open, making Lyra jump and Pantalaimon retreat to the confines of Lyra's mess of hair. In walked the man she had encountered earlier, a nasty scowl on his face, and a dangerous-looking shimmering silver sword in his hands. His eyes moving across the room like a predator, until they finally landed on Lyra. His eyes narrowed.

"Well," he breathed. "Look who we have here."

He walked to the center of the small room, allowing more cronies, at least four, to stream in. They were all built powerfully, and gave Lyra the impression of coyotes in a cage too small.

Lyra backed into the corner, fully aware that the five men had effectively cut off all means of escape for her. She picked up her coat along the way out of instinct, hugging it close to her chest out of some primitive sense.

"Well, we'll teach _this_ princess a _lesson_," he hissed maliciously, his mustache twitching, his arms rising to bring down the sword on Lyra –

Who saw a beautiful opening.

She darted past the man, ducking under his armpit, and rushed past to the other side of the room, seemingly about to collide with the wall –

And did the last thing anyone would expect.

She jumped out the window, breaking it with her body.

(She had no way of seeing this, but the men simply stood in her room, still from shock, mouths hanging open, gaping at the hole where she had made her escape. They were, quite simply put, dumbfounded.)

She landed on a soft woolen canvas above a small shop, and rolled off the cover. She fell to the ground with a heavy "oof" and winced, though she knew she had no spare time. She stood and peered around and, after seeing that her attackers did not immediately pursue, made for the boundaries of the village. Hiding in the village was no longer an option.

She dashed past several small stands closed for the night, dodging the tray of raw fish (was it just her or were _they_ made of cubes, too?) and rolling under a table full of apples (cubes as well?). She jumped off a relatively steep cobble road and landed with a rough grunt, rolling on the ground to disperse her momentum. Quickly standing back up, she spared a quick look behind her, and saw that the attackers were hot on her trail. With a nudge from Pantalaimon, and feeling rather hopeless, she continued running.

After running past the fifth bar, she saw the sands of a large clearing beyond sparsely placed houses. She pushed herself a bit harder and ran faster than she ever had before, which only caused more panting and wheezing than before. She could hear the men behind her shuffling, cursing as they struggled to keep up with her…

Until a small ball flew over her head and landed right in front of her.

She bumped right into the materializing body of the mustached man.

"Going somewhere?" he asked with a malicious grin, hungry in nature, formed upon his face.

Lyra turned and ran in the other direction. For the second time, she ducked under the armpits of the men closing behind her and darted right past. For the second time, the men's eyes followed her with shock as she skedaddled, their bodies petrified with amaze.

"Chase her, ya fools!" she heard the man shout at his companions.

She soon wound up in the same area with shops again. She even saw the tray of fish she dodged earlier, though the table of apples were nowhere in sight. Deciding that the men must have knocked it over during their chase, she headed for a narrow alleyway which led to some ladders, hoping to gain some high ground on her attackers, a trick she learned in her years of being a youngster to be quite useful against tails, if you had ammunition…

As she ran right past an empty table. That in itself was not the remarkable thing; it was the dull gray sword that lay next to it.

Lyra paused herself, hesitating for a moment. Should she take it? It could be useful…

"Just take the bloody thing and _run_!" Pantalaimon urged Lyra, his body shaking, panting.

Lyra picked up the sword and headed towards the alleyway.

The sword was almost perfectly balanced in her hand. It was neither too light nor too heavy, but just right for her strength. She estimated it to be a little over two feet and a half in length, which was perfect for her liking. She never did like long weapons; they were too difficult to swing, especially for a child.

But she was no longer a child. It had been such a long time since she was chased down alleyways, running from unknown pursuers, handling clay balls and wooden sticks that substituted for weapons, laughing in joy as she was caught and tickled and fell to the floor, giggling, begging for mercy…

Except here, if she were caught, she wouldn't be giggling.

She climbed up the ladder, onto the small balcony that overlooked the entire open-market area.

And she saw her pursuers closing in on the ladders.

She readied her sword, preparing to swing.

The first man, a bald, young man in his twenties (whom she'd never met before), climbed up the ladders with only one hand, the other hand holding a cube-y iron sword (it just _couldn't_ be silver). He swung at Lyra with a malicious glint in his eyes, and Lyra only barely managed to deflect it with her own. Both swords were knocked back, and Lyra struggled to keep her balance. She toppled back a bit.

The first man climbed up the ladder and onto the balcony.

Several more followed him.

Well, so much for taking advantage of the ladder and high ground.

Lyra was surrounded again.

Another man charged her, bringing down his sword right on her head. She raised her sword to parry the blow instinctively, but the other men were joining in. Another sword reached for her chest, and she blocked it narrowly. A flash of silver came from nowhere and sliced open her ankle, spraying blood everywhere like a water hose. Lyra felt sick and gasped in pain. Pantalaimon clutched at her blonde curls in anxiety.

She pushed with her sword and knocked a man off balance. Taking advantage of this opening, she thrust her sword forward and felt the tip of her sword sink into the man's silver chestplate. Lyra knew that her sword probably couldn't even put a dent in his chestplate, but the blow did knock the man off the balcony. The man stumbled backwards and fell off the battleground with a scream and, later, a dull thud.

Yet another blow. She raised her sword to deflect it from her chest (all of the men were either aiming for her head or her chest; they clearly wanted her dead), feeling the resonance of the metallic screech of sword on sword deep in her bones. She grinded her sword up the man's, taking him by surprise, disarming him, casting his sword flying away in a large arc.

But another blow came at her back. A sword was thrust deep into her shoulder blades. She felt her dress grow thick with blood, and suddenly perceived that she was crying. Pantalaimon was growling between sobs.

Her sword was now smeared with blood, probably her own. She swung at a man once more, her shoulders shaking, only to have it disarmed. She instinctively clutched her hand, feeling the sharp pain of the flat of the sword.

A sword emerged from nowhere and was perched at her neck. She backed away in response, only to have it pursue her further.

"End o' the line, doll," said a gruff voice that she recognized as the mustached man.

The sword sliced open her throat.

She fell to the floor, gasping, convulsing, choking in her own blood, trying to cling to her own consciousness –

She could feel her life slipping away from her. She refused to die, or rather, tried to refuse, but found herself too tired, too drained, to do so. She slowly raised her hand, clutching her throat, trying to stay alive –

But she would die –

_I mustn't!_

There was no denying it –

_I _won't_ die! Not here!_

Pantalaimon fluttered about next to Lyra's fallen body, licking her wounds, tiring, and eventually falling next to her as well, gasping.

Lyra was dying.

She could only faintly make out the screams in the background, as if coming from someplace far away, reaching her from a distant land. They were eerily quiet, echoing deeply within the recesses of her slipping mind. She could faintly see the outline of a dark, gray-black skeleton, descending upon her.

Surely this was Death.

Death was coming to claim her.

Then she heard to clash of sword on sword.

And the breaking of glass (she did not have time to comprehend how odd this was).

And she knew no more.


	5. Chapter 4 - A Raven's Cloak

Author's Note: Hello! I can't say "my faithful readers" yet, because I have no proof if anyone's reading at all. But that shan't stop me.

Anyhow, new chapter, very short, but the new one, massing at over 2000 words as of right now, will be up shortly. As in, within three days. Hopefully. Under any case, I hope you like this original character, Rowena. If you're wondering why Lyra's looking for Pan, remember that if a person's daemon is missing, they are dead. Or at least, that is so for humans from Lyra's universe.

Enjoy!

PLEASE review!

BTW, if my style starts sounding like George Martin, please forgive me, as I have been reading quite a sum of his works as of late. I might even start putting dialogue in paragraphs. Actually, no. That's my own style, and I'm sticking to it. Dialogue should have its own paragraph.

Anyhow, toodles!

* * *

Lyra groaned, raising her stiff her hand to rub her eyes. She yawned and opened her sleep-ridden eyes.

And saw a cube-y, wooden ceiling.

Panic almost hit her.

Then she remembered what had happened over the past two days (has it only been two days?).

Then she remembered that she died.

She suddenly sat up.

Does this mean that she's dead?

Alarmed, she frantically looked around, trying to find Pantalaimon – if he was missing, then she _is_ dead –

"Relax, Lyra," Pantalaimon scolded, though he seemed slightly frightened as well. He was near the pillow (she had been sleeping on a bed, apparently).

Lyra took in her surroundings. She was in a small, wooden room, all made of cubes. Next to her red bed was a small table, on which a lone torch stood. Bookshelves were put into the walls, and a small study desk was to her far left. She could see the door slightly right to her; if she needed to make an escape –

"It's about time you woke, child."

Lyra's eyes snapped to a woman, whom she had somehow missed, sitting on a wooden bench next to her bed. In her hands were a cube-y book and a quill, and she peered at Lyra with deep, sardonic, old black eyes over a rectangular pair of glasses. Her slightly-wiry, wild black hair which fell to her shoulders and puffed to the sides surrounded her young face in a dark halo. She looked to be in her very late teenages or her very early twenties, but something about her was so very ancient, weighed down, burdened, and _old_. She wasn't beautiful, but she was pretty enough, in a modest sense. A dark cloak enveloped it all.

Did she just call her "child"?

"I'm not a - "

"Take it easy," the woman said, raising her hand, allowing a snowy rabbit to climb to her shoulders –

_This woman has a daemon._

"You have a daemon," Lyra intoned nonchalantly, motioning the rabbit.

The woman chuckled.

"Indeed," she said, a sardonic, knowing smile creeping onto her face. "It would appear that we have come from similar, if not the same, universes."

What?

"Under any case, you seemed to have been in some trouble."

Then Lyra remembered.

"How did I get here?" Lyra inquired, making sure not to sound accusatory. She wasn't sure she wanted to get on the bad side of this odd woman.

"Well," she said, looking thoughtful, "Astrapi brought you here. He's the, you know, tall, dark, skeleton bloke."

"Oh."

Lyra was much too embarrassed to express her earlier suspicions that the skeleton was Death.

A sudden idea seized her.

Where was her alethiometer?

She overturned the blankets, revealing that she was no longer wearing the dress, but a suit of cube-y white clothes.

"Where's my clothes?" Lyra demanded shrilly, panicking a bit. "Where's my clothes?"

"Firstly," the woman said dryly, "proper grammar is 'where_ are_ my clothes'. Secondly, there was quite a bit of blood, and I had to wash it out. How did you get so much blood on yourself?"

But Lyra circumvented the question.

"Where's my satchel? And my coat?"

"Relax, child. Both are safe. The coat is drying off with the dress and the satchel is right there," she said, pointing to a small cube-y wooden knob near the door, where the satchel hung.

"Did you look inside?"

There was a slight, uneasy pause. It had been a blunt question, one that Lyra realized she ought not to have asked.

The woman cocked her head to one side.

"Yes," she said, the smile gone, a blank expression replacing it. "And I see you have somehow procured a curious instrument; a dangerous one, at that." Seeing the frightful expression on Lyra's face, she hastily added: "Oh, fret not, I have not removed it. It is still in there. Though I must say, that is a _very_ curious alethiometer. Not many men or women could ever even lay eyes on an alethiometer, much less be in possession of one."

Lyra scrutinized the woman casually.

"Under any case, you are avoiding my question. How did you get so much blood on you?"

"People wanted me dead. Nearly killed me too, but - " Lyra absent-mindedly touched her throat, and was surprised to feel no scar, or, indeed, any sign of damage, " – apparently, I'm still alive. They slit open my throat and everything."

"Wounds can be healed quite easily in this world."

"So I see."

There was a small pause as both women thought back on their day.

"What's your name?"

Only then did Lyra realize that she had not given the strange women her name yet. She contemplated on whether or not to give the woman her real name for a split second, but once she met the woman's piercing eyes, she decided against it for fear that the woman might somehow find out. She's seen more queer things in this world.

"My name is Lyra. Lyra Silvertongue."

"And you may call me Rowena."


	6. Chapter 5 - Market

Author's Note: Welcome back! To my _one_ reviewer, thank you sincerely! I appreciate your review and praise. Without further ado...

Enjoy!

BTW, anbaric means "electric".

* * *

The mist covered the sea.

It was nearly impossible to see anything beyond two meters. A thick, intangible mist hung over the vast ocean, obscuring sight, denying vision, casting a deep, eerie, impenetrable silence about. Lyra could not even clearly make out the ends of the small boat she was on.

"We're nearly there," Rowena broke the silence from beyond Lyra's vision.

After a night's sleep, Rowena had insisted that she go with her on a trip to the market. Since her home was rather far from the market, they had to take the water route, which meant that they would have to go on boat.

The boat was five blocks wide and several more long, with fencing around the edges to prevent the unwary traveler from falling into the water. A small shed was in the center, which hid a bed and a chest. Lyra had asked what was in the chest. Rowena had answered her with a mysterious smile. She, apparently, tended to do that a lot.

Lyra sat on a block, gazing boringly into the mist. She could barely even make out the ocean. She absent-mindedly placed her chin in her palms, and saw the sleeves of her old dress, now clean and bloodless, billowing in the small wind. She was quite certain that, like most people, when Rowena said "nearly", she meant "in another hour".

And so, after a bit of drooling and gazing off into space, they arrived.

The mist broke abruptly.

Her clouded vision suddenly exploded into a forest. Along the close shore was a wooden dock, which rose slightly above the water, with several small fence posts to tether boats to. Lyra could see that several boats were already attached to the dock, most of which were small and crude, and only two of which, excluding the boat she was on, were actually decent boats.

"We're here," Rowena announced from the front of the ship, her hand clutching the large, cube-y wooden oar. "The market is just a small walk away. See the gravel road?"

Indeed, there was a small road that cut through the forest where Rowena had pointed. It was small, to be sure, but it looked beautiful in a simple sense.

Rowena slowly allowed the boat to creak to a stop at the docks. She jumped off the boat with a small leap, her cloak black as night billowing slightly behind her, a thin, cube-y rope in her hands, and tied the boat to the wooden fence. Lyra got up with a grunt and jumped to the deck to join Rowena, Pantalaimon at her shoulder. Regarding Rowena, who was tying the rope, with some curiosity, Lyra asked:

"How do you stop someone from simply coming over and stealing our boat? That's not a particularly strong defense, mind you."

Rowena looked up, her hands still busy, shook some wild hair out of her dark eyes, and answered, periodically looking back to make sure she was tying the knot right.

"Good question. Firstly, in this nation, there are not much thieves, and I do not worry that anyone would take from us. Secondly, even if one should so wish to be sleight handed, I have other protections too. Observe."

She straightened herself and pointed her outstretched hand at the post, her palms facing the fencing. Lyra then thought she heard Rowena mutter something like:

"_Prostasia!_"

An angry anbaric-blue set of ancient-looking runes hung in the air, suspended before the ropes, conjured by the spell, and disappeared into oblivion after a second. The rope glowed with a purple, shimmering aura for a second, and was still again.

"How - "

"It is something called Enchantments," Rowena said, the gray rabbit on her left shoulder again, peering inquisitively at Lyra, starting towards the small gravel road in the forest. "I will teach you, hopefully sometime soon. Now come, for we do not wish to be late."

Lyra thought that statement slightly odd, and would have shrugged it off as being probably unimportant several years ago. But her years under Dame Hannah has taught her not to overlook these small things, and so she took note of this oddity and filed it away into the recesses of her mind.

The two made their way through the woods and towards the market.

* * *

The forest abruptly broke, as did the gravel trail, revealing the high, impregnable walls of a castle or a fortress. It most certainly did not seem like a market. When Lyra pointed this out to Rowena, she simply shrugged and answered: "It never hurts to be prepared." As she said this, a brief look of intense pain swept across her face, screwed up in anguish; but then, as swiftly as it came, it disappeared, leaving no trace of its previous existence behind. Lyra had found that she did this quite a bit; occasionally, flashes of pain would sweep across her face, but it would disappear almost immediately, and when Rowena caught Lyra looking at her, she would smile at Lyra nonchalantly, as if nothing had happened.

Stone towers rose for the sky. In between each of these towers, a high wall would stretch indefinitely, with the occasional guard patrolling above. Rowena led her towards the tall gate, its iron gates lifted, and crossed through. Lyra followed.

The market was splendid, multicolored banners swaying in the sunlight. Rowena led her down a small street, ignoring the loud arguing, swearing, and advertising around her, and kept going until she came upon a small stand with red and white woolen tops. On the wooden stands were rows and columns of cube-y fish, and a tall man stood behind, shaded under the wool, a cube-y white apron over his normal clothes and flesh.

Rowena stopped, her daemon at her heels, and she reached inside her dark cloak, lifting it for a second, and allowing Lyra to see that there was a brown, cube-y leather scabbard at her waist, a small strip of leather binding it around her, intricately designed, with sinuous curves of the leather, leaving some long, narrow space for Lyra to glimpse the sword within. Lyra had expected to see some spectacular blade, but what she saw instead disappointed her. It was nothing but a dull, gray blade, worn with use, complete with a cube-y wood-and-gray cross-guard and wooden-leather grip, topped off with a dark gray pommel.

Rowena retrieved from her cloak a small, cube-y woolen bag, light gray in color, and opened it in the palm of her hand, withdrawing several small, cube-y, golden pieces.

"It is still a nug for a fish, yes?" she asked of the man.

"Yes," came his reply. His odd accent perplexed Lyra, until she realized that she had heard it once from a bloke from New Denmark, a long, long time ago.

"I'd like a dozen fish, please," Rowena said, counting and handing some golden pieces over to the man. The man accepted it graciously.

And then he began to throw the fish at Rowena.

Rowena caught them one by one, and with a small, flicking motion of her wrist, the fish disappeared with a small _pop_ in her grasp. Lyra watched, amazed, and tried to focus on how the fish disappeared. She could have sworn that the fish was merely shrinking _very_ rapidly, but she didn't even know what to believe anymore.

When Rowena caught and dispelled the last of the fish, she thanked the man and left, her gray rabbit at her heels, leaving Lyra to follow her. Lyra then followed her to a fruit stand, where she bought several apples (which she dispelled into oblivion), then to a meat stand, where she bought beef and pork (which she also dispelled into oblivion), and lastly to a book stand.

This stand was as small as the others, and a large banner depicting a book waved above it. A young man in his teenages with large, round glasses sat cross-legged on a small, wooden chair, engrossed in a book, which, to Lyra's amaze, upon closer examination, turned out to be cube-y as well. Next to the man, a row of dark wood served as a countertop, and behind, in the deeper recesses of the stand, several rows of bookshelves filled the wall, reaching all the way to the woolen ceilings. Rowena waited for a short while, and, after realizing that the man hadn't noticed her, coughed loudly and made an extreme action to cover her mouth.

The man quite literally jumped at the sound, dropped his book, saw Rowena, and grinned sheepishly at Rowena's bemused smile, bending over to pick up his book.

"We have Professor Woodruff's new work, if that's what you're looking for," the man said, picking up his read and dusting it with his hands laboriously. "It's just in, so the pricing is at seven nugs. You won't find a cheaper price anywhere around."

"Do you hear me complaining?" Rowena jested, smiling sardonically, motioning the man to get the book for her. The man hastily put down his book, pushed his sliding glasses further up his nose, and delved deeper into the shop to retrieve Rowena's purchase from the bookshelves. He emerged with a dark green copy, flipped its cube-y pages, and handed it to Rowena, who, after examining the title briefly, opened a random page and began reading.

"While you're at it," the man said smoothly, "I would suggest the new copy that Mr. Tesla has published." He went to the bookshelves yet again, searched a short while, and picked out a book for Rowena to see. Rowena shut the green book, placed it down on the wooden countertop, and accepted a red book from the man.

"It's a new theory on electricity in this world," the man said, scratching his head absent-mindedly. "I must say, Mr. Tesla is clinging quite strongly to the older fundamental theories."

"I would say clinging desperately, Peter," Rowena said, flipping through the pages. "I'll have you know that our labs are about to undertake the final experimentation to proving the existence of the Codes. Or Depths, however you wish to address it." She shut the book, placing it on top of the green copy. "You know, it's never too late to join. You have the talent, and I'm always willing to place a word in the right ear to make sure you get in." A frown came over her face. "Calculus can wait. We need every mind we can get."

The man chuckled sourly. "Tell that to your fellow scientists, my friend. I'm sure Sir Polir would not agree to that."

Rowena stiffened. It was subtle, but Lyra sensed it.

"He was troubling you?" she asked in an odd tone.

"Don't worry over it," Peter said hastily. "He's right. I can't even do calculus yet."

"If you want to get in, you _will_ get in, and be damned whatever _Sir Polir_ thinks of you. You should know better than this."

"No," Peter said with an air of finality. "I appreciate your help, Rowena, but I really _do_ need to learn calculus first. I'll apply when the time is right."

"The time is right now," Rowena said sadly. "But if you think otherwise, please remember that the offer is always open."

"Thank you. Under any case, who is this lovely lady you've brought with you? A new recruit, no doubt?"

Lyra felt herself stiffen. She was about to retort smartly when Rowena replied for her.

"This is Lyra. She's new here, though I do believe she has studied physics before she arrived."

Indeed, Lyra had confessed to Rowena earlier that she had been an experimental theologist before she arrived in this world.

"Can she do calculus?"

"I dunno. Can you, Lyra?"

Lyra replied with a small nod.

"Well, there you have it."

Peter gave a sad, small chuckle. "See? Even a girl several years my junior can do calculus. What would I be doing in the Sciences?"

Rowena sighed, and began taking gold out of her bag again. "How much is the Tesla book?"

"Also seven nugs."

Rowena counted fourteen golden pieces onto the table, and began to close her bag, but seemed to think the better of it. She reopened the bag and threw down four solid golden bars.

"I'd like a stack of paper and ten more sacs of ink, please."

Peter silently obliged and went again to the back of the store. He reappeared with an arm full of cube-y paper and ten small sacs as dark as the night. Their skins were transparent, and Lyra could see the dark ink inside them sloshing around. Peter placed it all on the table and put the gold in a chest next to the counter. Lyra was just wondering what Rowena would do with her belongings when she did it.

Rowena placed the two books on top of the stack of paper and placed the sacs on top of it.

She then held her hand out and touched the large stack of materials. The tall stack shrank faster than the eye could perceive until they were but a small, absolutely _minuscule_ cube floating in Rowena's palm. Then, as fast as the shrinking had happened, the cube blinked out of existence.

Lyra was amazed.

Peter was unimpressed.

Rowena waved good-bye to Peter, as if she performed stunts of magic every day.

Which, come to think of it, she probably did.


	7. Update!

This fic is being moved/merged with my other fic, Hostility Awaits. If you want to see the new updates, go to there! Make sure you like, comment, and subscribe!

Crap. Not YouTube. Not YouTube. Not YouTube.

Anyway! :D

All of the new updates will be posted there. Yeah. Think that's it.

Hope you guys enjoy Hostility Awaits! Bye!

BTW, in case you're misunderstanding me, this fic is _not_ abandoned. It's just being moved to another name, so it's easier for me to manage. Everything'll still be the same. So go on over and check it out!

Actually, the Dust Integrity Failing chapters will be towards the end of Hostility Awaits. But read it all anyway. It's all in the same timeframe, the same universe, the same plot. Lyra will eventually meet up with the main characters of Hostility Awaits.

Duke...

OUT!

Mindblower of the day:

If an ice cube melts in a cup of water, does the water level rise or drop?

oihhhhhhhhhhh its a myyyyyyyyyyyyysteryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

youuuuuuuuuuuuu dont seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh


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